


Where the Wind Carries the Sand

by buttercups3



Series: Taurean Birthday Bash [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Iraq, Pregnancy, Smut, first-person p.o.v., post-Mayhem break up, spoilers for 2.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Miles broke it off with Rachel before his second deployment to Iraq, he had no idea what he'd be missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Wind Carries the Sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovesrogue36](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/gifts).



> Welcome to this terribly depressing birthday present! You know angst just means I love you, right bb? ;P So glad you were born. *snugs*

“Miles.” It’s _her_.

I pull my cap down over as much of my face as possible and shift the satellite phone tighter against my cheek, hiding in plain view from my squad, scattered around me at rest. This isn’t like Bass’ and my first deployment. I don’t know these guys. And frankly, though they’re good – skill levels far surpassing my old unit – I don’t _like_ them. They’re like looking in a distorted mirror and seeing only your worst traits reflected back. Every day I become more of those things and less of the man Rachel cared for. I was right to cut her loose.

“Ra…Rachel?” My mouth twitches violently before I can force it still.

The sun beats down on my shoulders from a cloudless sky, but there’s a perpetual, ugly haze from the dust. I listen to us both breathing, six thousand four hundred miles apart.

This isn’t right. I don’t get phone calls from my family when I’m deployed, especially not from her, especially not _now_. What could she possibly have to say to me? Is Ben _dead_?

To shake loose our painful limbo, I offer honestly, “It’s good to, uh, hear your v-”

Coldly, she cuts into my sentence, “Ben’s standing right beside me. We have important news to share.”

I freeze and lick my lips. Important, not terrible. And Ben is there. For a horrifying second, I wonder if I’m actually disappointed. Did I _want_ my own brother out of the way? Am I that much of a fucking monster?

“We are… pregnant.”

My air passage winds into a strangling knot in my throat. _Fuck_. We are pregnant. _We_. I clench the phone hard enough in my fist that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Say something, you pathetic excuse for a human. I choke out, “Oh. Con…congratulations.” Jesus, did I just absolve myself of responsibility?

“Thank you.”

“When,” I hoarsely stutter, “When are you due?” The end is almost a whisper. If ever Ben had any doubts about what his wife and brother were up to over the past couple of years, he must be sure now, because I sound one hundred percent guilty.

“We’re about four months along.”

She keeps saying _we_ : her and Ben. That’s because I abandoned her. I abandoned her, and now she’s having a baby with him, which I fucking told her to do at the airport, now didn’t I? If I’d just said the truth, maybe she’d be having this baby with me. She’s only four months along; I could finish this tour and rush back to be with her. I could… the idea turns cold and burrows into the pit of my stomach.

“Miles?” I’ve been silent too long again.

“Yes?”

“We’re going to go now.”

No, Rachel don’t… “Okay. By-”

“Stay safe.”

_Christ_. “Bye.”

I hang up and start drifting, surprised my legs still function since I can’t feel them. Past some Humvees and nearly blinding reflective tarps, I stumble by Bass shooting the shit with Cpl. Ruiz. Bass must notice my face, because I vaguely register his, “Hey man, what’s… everything okay?”

I try to nod as I stumble by until I’ve found a secluded spot behind a cement building. Then, I dry heave. A baby – four months along. I wonder if Rachel’s showing. I want so badly to spread my fingers over her pale, milky skin – to put my ear against her belly and listen there. I’m fucking creepy, aren’t I? I think… I’m actually a little afraid I’ve gone crazy.

One thing is certain, I cannot stand another second as me. Overcome with that thought, I punch the wall in front of me that’s been supporting my forehead. My fist opens up and blood pours out. I stare at it in satisfaction. I’m about to go another round, when familiar hands lace around my arms from behind and hold me. We always smell like sunscreen and sweat out here, but I can just detect the leathery-lemon beneath… and I know the shape of the body behind me as well as I know anything.

Bass pleads, “Miles, stop it! Get a grip.” His straight-jacket grip tightens until I stop struggling then roughly push him off. “Okay, okay. I’m stepping back,” he insists, raising his hands. “Your fucking hand, man. The hell is going on?”

I have to turn away from his fiercely blue eyes – the desert sky in perfect miniature – almost exactly like hers. “Rachel’s… pregnant.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” Bass curses, and I flinch because saying it aloud just made it real. “Is it yours?” his voice drags over the sand from behind me.

I turn back toward him, my hand throbbing in painful rhythm with my constricted breathing, but I don’t meet his eyes. “She didn’t say.” He has his hand over his mouth, a perfect cartoon of shock. I don’t blame him. I’ve never been so fucking gobsmacked in my entire life.

“Well, she might not know…” his voice trails off, and he drops his hand at his side. “In biology class, which I know you slept through, we learned that DNA testing isn’t all that accurate among siblings; so even if she checked, she might not know.”

I try to process this, though his voice is slipping away, and my brain comes up with this wild suggestion: _Maybe there is no difference between me and Ben. Maybe it’s not so bad I slept with her._ The fuck is wrong with me? “So… what do I do?” My voice is a feeble whisper.

Bass approaches me a little warily and reaches out, “Let me see your hand, Miles. For God’s sake, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

I wince as he rolls it softly in his long fingers and then extracts a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap the wound.

“Can you move your fingers, bud? I think we’ve got to take you to the hospital for an x-ray. You smashed it against fucking cement.”

I agonizingly extend my fingers. He’s probably right. I need medical attention but don’t want it.

“Miles, don’t give me that look. We’re snipers now. Your right hand is your weapon. We went through all that damn training to be a team, and you’re not going to abandon me out here.”

That gets my attention. Because I did that to her, but I won’t do that to him. “Okay, sorry.” I give my fingers another stretch. “I think it’s okay. I just need some ice.”

“We’ll let the doctor be the judge of that.” He puts his hand on the back of my neck to guide me toward the hospital. As we walk, he asks hesitantly, “Miles, does this change your choice?”

I don’t really have to think about it, because now, more than ever, I know the answer. Me, a father? Can you imagine how badly I’d fuck up a kid? “No.”

“Then you’re going to have to live with it, man. You’re just going to have to live with it.”

My lips tremble slightly again, and I lick them. “I know.”

He pats me once more on the back and leads on.

* * *

That night with my hand wrapped up – I was lucky, huh, _lucky_ , no broken bones – I roll my face into my pillow, thinking I might finally weep, but I don’t. I don’t deserve to.

Sick as it is, the idea of her pregnant, that she might actually have _our_ baby inside of her, is making my skin buzz, my balls tighten. Christ, it’s making me want her more than ever. My brain drifts back to the night I’ve replayed over and over these past few months – our last time together.

_It’s a pretty nice hotel for us, and we’re pressed up against the window, high above the city. I’m tracing the soft underside of her breast, cool from the glass, as I taste her neck from behind, pushing my erection into the tender fold of her ass and sliding it up and down in our mutual sweat. I gasp and worry I’ll lose it right here. At least by this point, it’s normal for me to come multiple times with her. I’m actually amazed at how frequently I can get it up over the course of whatever we’re sharing – an hour, two hours, rarely a whole night. I just want her so badly, my whole body cooperates with my insatiable need.  
_

_I skim my fingers down the ridges of her ribcage to her hip and squeeze, extracting a little moan from her pink lips. She turns her face to the side, cheek to glass, and meets my lips. I suck on the bottom one and drink in her sweetness. I feel myself clinging to her this afternoon, because I have a vague feeling I’m finally going to do it: break it off. I don’t even have a plan, just a notion. It’s cruel to her, I know. I don’t want to think about it.  
_

_My hand looks huge on her hip, and I barely have to extend my finger to nestle in the adjacent curls. Dipping a little further, I hit velvety skin. We moan into each other’s mouths at that. I explore her gently down there, relishing her delicate contours, and finally I can’t take it anymore. (Judging by her whimpering, neither can she.) Abruptly, I pull her around so she’s facing me and drop to my knees, lips dragging down her slender arm to her palm.  
_

_When I rub my scratchy cheeks against the V of her thighs, I find they’re wet from her arousal. I bury my face in her then and lick hungrily at her clit, stretching her open with two then three of my over-sized fingers. I find that hidden rough patch and dig in, sucking her with all the strength my lips can muster. She hooks a leg over my shoulder to force me deeper, and my tongue slips in beside my fingers. Oh Rachel, baby, come._

_As soon as I think it, she does, slapping audibly against my lips. By the time I pull back to gaze up at her shimmering blue eyes, my lips are on fire. I’m swiping my wrist across them as she drops down to meet me, barreling her face into my shoulder. I nearly catapult backwards and have to brace myself with a hand on the carpet. I stroke up the elegant arc of her back and entwine my fingers in her silky hair, while she quivers gratefully against me.  
_

_My erection is nuzzled between her breasts now, dripping. Whatever happens next, I’m not going to last long. I wrap one of her tiny hands in mine and slide it over my raw tip, which she cradles instantly in her palm. Touch me, I think, and she does, suddenly grasping roughly. With one squeeze, I come gut-twistingly hard, pulsing seed on her hand and breasts.  
_

_I fall backward, pulling her down on top of me, and close my eyes, listening to the endless sounds of my own moaning. The aftershocks go on and on. Finally, I open my eyes on her staring at me and stroking my chest hair with rapt affection.  
_

_I arch an eyebrow and half smile. “How much time do we have left?”  
_

_Her eyes flick to the alarm clock on the nightstand above us. “An hour or so.”  
_

_“Bed?” I sigh.  
_

_“Mmm,” she agrees.  
_

_Minutes later, we’re snuggled down beneath the comforter, her cheek warming my chest and her hand resting on my soft, still-damp dick. She strokes lightly, urging me back to life, while I trace each vertebrae of her spine._

_She kisses the sensitive pink circle beneath her lips and whispers, “Happy.”  
_

_My chest seizes a little at that, but I respond, “Me too.” The thing is, we **are** when we’re pressed up against each other, entirely consumed in the other person. But when we get even a hair’s breadth of space in between us, the anguish seeps in. Because we’re hurting Ben. That’s all we’re ever doing. We’re hurting a man we both love – a man we’ve sworn loyalty to.  
_

_“Mm, Rach,” I mumble, shifting her body fully on top of mine to block out the thought with her perfect weight.  
_

_She grinds her softness into me, hands planted on my pecs, and I begin to rouse. I’m barely stiff enough to be inside her, but she manages to thread me in anyway and lets me firm up within the pillow of her body. She throws her head forward, blonde waves cascading over breasts, and I brush her hair gently aside for a better view, my fingers grazing her hardening nipples. One of her hands slides down to my inked bicep and holds it tightly. I suck the fingers of my free hand (which still taste of her from earlier) and press those against her clit. She clenches on my cock and takes everything she can from my fingers until she’s there again, tossing her head back to expose creamy neck, breasts bouncing entrancingly. She cries out my name, fingernails dug into the flesh of my arm, satisfying some deep urge within me to claim her and be claimed.  
_

_On her next gasp, I swing her down so we’re on our sides facing each other. Holding the soft weight of one her breasts maybe a little too desperately, I slide in and out of her, as she whimpers and winces.  
_

_“Too much?” I check.  
_

_She shakes her head. I dip my forehead into hers, and we just breathe on each other, as I thrust into the endless warmth and wet. I become vaguely aware of this low, guttural sound I’m making and then laugh at myself, which she joins. Finally, I back out and push her down with a firm hand (that takes up nearly her whole breast, despite their size)._

_I hover over her for a second, taking in her smart little smirk and sky-blue eyes with a sigh, while my cock leaks all over her belly.  
_

_“You’re dripping on me.” She squeezes me merrily.  
_

_“Mmm,” I bite my lip._

_She opens her legs in invitation, and I easily slip back in all the way to her inner wall, seeing if I have a second orgasm in me._

_“Uhuhuh,” she whimpers, squeezing her eyes and fisting the roots of her own hair.  
_

_“You wanna come with me, baby?” I grunt, because hell, I don’t know: She **looks** like she’s at her edge again. _

_“Yeah. Yeah,” she mutters.  
_

_I let her do it herself, because she’s clearly over- sensitized at this point. Her dainty fingers drop to her clit and flick at it, while I drive into her, my hands planted on either side of her trim little waist. Yeah, I’m gonna get there._

_“Fuck, fuck. Coming,” I announce and let go, a duller, achier high this time, while she squirms her own release beneath me.  
_

_Finally, I collapse on her but not all the way. My body always makes hers look so small, I _’_ m afraid of breaking her. I trail a kiss along her neck and roam over her chin to her lips. My cock starts to soften within her but neither of us wants to part, our bodies knitted deeply together. _

_This is the thing you’re going to ruin, I think to myself, and tears actually leap into my eyes. I bury my face in the pillow beside her so that she can’t see._

Slowly my senses return to the scratchiness of _this_ pillow, the perpetual grit in the air, the dryness that leeches moisture from your skin and your bones. Long gone is the comfort of her silky-warm body.

I’m not a religious man; I don’t believe in God or heaven. But if there’s anything out there that controls fate, I beg it: Please just let me die here for my country. I don’t know how I’ll ever look at her again, at him – my brother, most of all at that baby, knowing it could be mine.

When the dawn breaks, filtering pale light through our tent, I finally roll over under the weight of my spectacular pity party, and of course Bass is beside me, back to me – just resting, not asleep. I can tell by his shallow breaths and the tense ropes of muscle between his shoulders.

“I know what you’re thinking, Miles.” His voice is so dry it can barely scrape out. He doesn’t turn to me. “But _I_ need you. I don’t care about how you fucked up with Ben and Rachel. I don’t care about any of it, because you’re my best friend, and we’re here together in fucking war, and I need you. So please don’t… just don’t give up; don’t do something idiotic and get yourself killed.”

And there it is. No matter how stupid and selfish I am, I can’t give myself permission to give up. I don’t get to be off the hook. Rachel has to spend nine months, eighteen years, the rest of her life, with a constant reminder of what I did to her. Oh, I’m sure she hates me – is probably over me already. But it will always hurt her, both of them, all three of them – in ways the child will probably never understand. That’s the legacy I’ve already left in the world at just twenty-four years old. I can’t help but wonder what I’ll ruin next.


End file.
